


White Light

by VillaKulla



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2015-03-20
Packaged: 2018-03-13 21:07:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3396362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VillaKulla/pseuds/VillaKulla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the end it's a heart attack that gets Jesse Pinkman.</p><p>But after everything his heart had been through, it's not like he was really surprised.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

In the end it’s a heart attack that gets Jesse Pinkman.

 

Not a rival gang. Not cartel. Not the bullet in the back of his head he could never stop anticipating no matter many breaths he took before he closed his eyes at night, or no matter how many restaurant walls he kept firmly behind his back.

 

Just a sudden shortness of breath while standing at the kitchen sink doing that morning’s dishes. His hands buried in warm water, his forehead breaking out in a cold sweat. A tightness in his jaw that shot right down to his chest. And then the _squeezing_. Gasping for breath while a vice was clamping down inside of his chest, pushing pushing _pushing_ , relentless pressure refusing to let go, like he was being dragged by a train, caught in the wheels while it plowed right on through the rest of his heart.

 

Jesse looked through the kitchen window, still hunched over the sink. The sun was streaking into his back garden, softly now because the days were getting shorter. He'd never quite made it up to Alaska, but Washington hadn’t been so bad. The next best thing, really. And when it was late summer like it was now, with the sun filtering into his own kitchen, sometimes Jesse felt like the past twenty years he’d spent here couldn’t get much better. 

 

It was so serene he could almost ignore the way his chest was being torn apart.

 

Another jolt. Soap bubbles drifted aimlessly upwards, catching in the light. His hands started to go numb where they were submerged in a mess of suds. Jesse took in a shuddering breath, some corner of his mind registering their lavender scent. He was almost out of dish soap. He made a mental note to pick up some more.

 

And then Jesse burst into a genuine laugh that sent another pang shooting through his chest. He wasn’t buying any more dish soap.

 

He laughed again where he stood by the sink, buried up to his elbows in soap bubbles. _Buy more dish soap_. Yeah hold on, heart, mind waiting while I just run out to the grocery store real quick? Maybe grab some more toothpaste that I also won't be needing?

 

 _You’re ridiculous_ , he thought to himself, and then he was off laughing uncontrollably, lungs working against the crushing pressure clamping down in his chest, literally squeezing the life out of him. Each jolt only made him laugh more, a reminder of his momentary ludicrous priorities.

 

 _I can’t believe my last thoughts will be about Sunlight soap_ , he thought deliriously. And with a smile out the window to no one, Jesse felt his knees buckle and he grabbed onto the edge of the sink for balance. And hands slipping off the stainless steel, leaving a sudsy trail over the corner of the sink, Jesse gently slid down the counter to the floor.

 

He clutched his heart, the cloth of his t-shirt becoming damp where he scrabbled at his chest. He wasn’t fighting it though, he knew what was happening.

 

He looked around his kitchen. The past twenty years of living here and he he’d never seen it from this particular vantage point, collapsed as he was against a counter, teeth gritted, with his heart slamming out the final beats it would ever have.

 

 _Heart attack_ , he thought again, shaking his head, the pulse straining in his neck. But after everything his heart had been put through, it’s not like he was really all that surprised.

 

Well. He’d gotten some good final mileage, better than he should have expected given his previous lifestyle choices. He hadn’t quite made it to fifty, but close enough.

 

Even Mr. White had made it further than that, Jesse thought ruefully. And _there_ it was. Not sunlight soap, not his age…

 

Jesse realized his final thoughts would be of Mr. White. And nothing could have possibly surprised him less. The man who’d worked his heart the most would be present for its last functioning moments on this earth. Poetic really.

 

It didn’t hurt though. It had stopped hurting a long time ago and he’d accepted that it would be a rare day where Mr. White _didn’t_ creep into his thoughts, or when Jesse didn’t hear his voice. It was like breathing at this point. Wake up, think about Mr. White. Go to the store, think about Mr. White. Work on a new carpentry project, think about Mr. White. Inhale, Mr. White. Exhale, Mr. White. Mr. White, Mr. White, Mr. White.

 

Whether he felt sick or peaceful about it honestly depended on the day.

 

But the past ten years, Jesse could truly say it was more peaceful than not, and the memory of Mr. White fit right under the skin at this point, being accepted by the cells.

 

Another memory came back to him. Of Jesse huddled on the floor like he was now, unable to move beyond jerking, thrashing bursts, Mr. White’s voice floating into his consciousness.

 

 _Jesse_.

 

He could hear it perfectly. Sometimes the memory of Mr. White’s face grew fuzzy, distorted with time. Had the beard been a goatee or had it stretched all the way up to his ears? And his eyes, were they green? Jesse often pictured them as green, the only colour Mr. White seemed to care about at times, dollar signs perpetually flashing in his eyes. But Jesse thought they actually might have been a little more blue than he gave them credit for. His glasses…Jesse couldn’t remember the frames. Sometimes they were wire, a dark eyebrow arched above them as he gazed skeptically down at Jesse. Sometimes they were thick plastic, Mr. White’s eyes clenched shut behind the lenses, shielding Jesse from a hailstorm of gunfire…

 

But his voice. His voice never changed.

 

_Look at me, son._

Clear as day, no matter how long it had been since Jesse had heard it last.

 

 _Wake up_.

 

Mr. White, hunched over him, shaking his shoulders.

 

 _It’s me, Walt_.

 

Jesse thought about that moment a lot, despite the fact that the memory was drenched in a heroin-soaked haze. About Jane, about blaming himself and about how the whole time Mr. White _knew_. He’d tried to put himself into Mr. White’s shoes, wondering what he was thinking.

 

But mostly he wondered why Mr. White had called himself _Walt_ when trying to get Jesse to recognize him. It was such a small thing, so irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. But Jesse couldn’t have siphoned it out of his brain if he tried.

 

_You are not good right here._

 

He could still hear him clear as anything. It was almost like Mr. White was crouched over him now, a dark, fuzzy figure, obscured by pain. And the real kicker was…it almost made Jesse feel better. He could feel the pressure in his chest lessening.

 

_You hear? Put your arms around me._

Jesse wasn’t imagining it: he did feel better. Jesus. Comforted by the thought of Mr. White in his last dying breaths. But was the idea really that unreasonable? Helping Jesse may not have ever been Mr. White’s first instinct. But it had always been his last.

 

Jesse let his mouth twitch up as the rest of the crushing pain started to slip through his pores. He was almost through the worst of it, and it wouldn’t be long now.

 

_You’re going to stand up and we’re going to walk out of here, okay? We’re going to take you someplace nice and safe._

Jesse nodded. His heart stuttered. He felt himself go very very cold, but then just as quickly, a warmth settled over him like a mantle. It felt nice.

 

And then quiet.

 

Jesse extended his arms. Or someone extended his arms. His body on the kitchen floor wasn’t moving at all, one arm hanging limply by its side, the other still placed on its chest. But that wasn’t Jesse anymore. Jesse, the real Jesse, was reaching out, and felt his arms close around someone.

 

This time he let himself be pulled to his feet.

 

_That’s it._

 

He just had to step forward.

 

 _Now let’s go_.

 

He did.

 

 _Come on_.

 

For a brief moment it felt like Jesse was floating. And then everything dissolved in a flash except the voice, clearer than before:

 

“Here we go.”

 

Jesse felt himself being gently set down. He couldn’t see anything under him. But he knew instinctively that if he put his foot down he’d be okay.

 

And when he straightened up, feet planted firmly in the swirling nothingness, he looked up to see exactly who he was expecting.

 

He couldn’t help it. He smiled.

 

“Long time no see.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was always the intended conclusion for this fic, but I decided to let the first half sit for a while as its own part until I could figure out Part 2. But here it is! Hope you enjoy:)

Now that Jesse was looking at him he couldn’t imagine how that face had ever become blurred by time. It was like a layer of his brain had peeled back to reveal a stamp of Mr. White that had been branded there, burned into his mind the whole time.

 

They stared at each other. Jesse was getting used to his own weightlessness, getting used to how they were apparently standing in some kind of night sky, not to mention getting used to the image of Mr. White here, actually in _front_ of him and in the flesh. Well. In a manner of speaking.

 

Jesse was suddenly hit with a sense of déjà vu. Of looking up from his feet and seeing Mr. White standing over him after so much time, as though he’d materialized out of nowhere. The last time it had happened Mr. White had been almost unrecognizable, flyaway hair, wrinkles cutting deep into his face, eyes shifting over Jesse’s body with more insecurity than Jesse was used to seeing in them.

 

But now he looked like the Mr. White that Jesse was used to. It didn’t really make sense, Jesse knew Mr. White had died as Jesse had seen him last. But here was the face that stuck with Jesse the most. The eyes were alert and lively. They weren’t resignedly blank like Mr. White’s voice had been when Jesse had heard it last. A barely registered ‘Goodbye, Lydia’. But they weren’t glinting with the same far-off motivation that used to chill Jesse. He looked the way he did back when they’d cook out in the desert. The handful of good times. Jesse pretending he couldn’t pronounce the names of the lab equipment, just to annoy Mr. White. Mr. White pretending he was exasperated, but fighting the barest shadows of a smile off his face.

 

Jesse couldn’t really make out the clothes. Something about Mr. White seemed almost shrouded in darkness, even though it didn’t really _feel_ dark where they were. But Jesse’s mind supplied the image of khakis and a button-down, just out of habit. Mr. White was standing up straight, eyes on Jesse, assessing him. He seemed to be giving Jesse more direct attention than he’d ever given him in life. Usually he angled away from Jesse, head only swiveling around when it was in his best interests. Now he was facing Jesse head on, without agenda. He was crackling with some kind of unseen energy that blurred his outline, only if you were really looking for it. The sheer ethereality of his figure and the way he was gazing at Jesse so openly, not to mention the fact that Mr. White was _in front of him_ was overwhelming Jesse a little.

 

But something about Mr. White being the first to greet him felt right.

 

“You look the same,” Jesse offered.

 

Mr. White raised his eyebrows but he seemed to be smiling slightly.

 

“So do you.”

 

Now it was Jesse’s turn to look surprised.

 

“I’m forty-eight and you’re telling me I still look like a guy in his twenties? Great.”

 

Mr. White shrugged. “You look like you’re in your twenties to me,” he said a bit quietly.

 

Jesse frowned and glanced down at his hand, startling when he realized the scar wasn’t there anymore. One night in the compound, Todd had decided Jesse’s hands ought to match.

 

“I like symmetry,” he’d said in a such a calm, detached voice, that it had scared the shit out of Jesse even before Todd had picked up a razor blade and carved a shape into Jesse’s left hand that was a gory mockery of the tattoo on his right.

 

But even that hadn’t hurt as much as the throwaway comment right after:

 

“I learned that word from Mr. White.”

 

Jesse swallowed as he lowered his smooth hand now.

 

“So we’re both seeing what we want to see, I guess? Sounds familiar.”

 

Mr. White bit his lip. “No I mean…I know you have the scars. And that you’re older. But you…I just mean you look like you.”

 

Jesse smiled. “Just the kind of thing a guy who’s been living with a false identity for twenty years wants to hear.”

 

Mr. White smiled back. God, Jesse wasn’t used to seeing him so…so _calm_. Or maybe it was Jesse that felt calm. Usually when he was with Mr. White he had to brace himself for an explosion that always seemed to be simmering under the surface. But he knew that here it wouldn’t come. He felt peaceful in a way he was unused to with Mr. White, except the moments when they were locked in a cook, mirroring each other, matching each other, reading each other every step of the way.

 

Symmetry.

 

“So how’ve you been?” Mr. White asked, breaking the silence.

 

Jesse almost wanted to laugh. As much as everything about this was making a kind of fateful sense that resonated somewhere deep within him, come on…it was still pretty bizarre.

 

He was about to respond sarcastically. _Oh. You know. Dead. You?_

But he looked up at Mr. White who still had that almost off-putting earnestness in his eyes. Like he really wanted to know.

 

“I’ve…,” Jesse drew in a breath. “I mean mostly…”

 

His voice trailed off as he gazed at Mr. White considering it. Finally he just shrugged.

 

“I’ve been good,” he said simply. And then smiled at the realization that he meant it.

 

The figure of Mr. White seemed to relax somewhat.

 

“That’s good,” Mr. White quietly. And it sounded like he meant it too.

 

The sincerity in his voice threw Jesse off momentarily.

 

“Seriously?”

 

“Jesse I…” Mr. White broke off and looked at some point over Jesse’s shoulder. “You have to know, I’ve had a lot of time to think up here.”

 

 _Up where_ , Jesse almost wanted to ask. Except he didn’t have to. He knew already.

 

“About what?” he asked instead.

 

Mr. White shook his head a little absently. “Well…everything.”

 

Jesse nodded drily. “That’s a list.”

 

Mr. White frowned, looking down at his feet.  “I guess you want to hear that I’m sorry.”

 

As peaceful as Jesse had been feeling up here, he was nonetheless hit with a bitter tasting annoyance.

 

“Well not if you don’t mean it,” he said. “I mean, Jesus, don’t do my any favors now.”

                                               

Mr. White looked back up. “Well I’m not.”

 

“Well good,” Jesse shot back. “Because neither am I.”

 

“ _Good_ ,” said Mr. White forcefully.

 

They stood eyeing each other until Jesse allowed himself to feel a kind of wry amusement. They could be separated over time and literally over space, but Mr. White was still a stubborn bastard.

 

Well. So was Jesse for that matter. But then again he’d learned from the best.

 

Normally when he and Mr. White started at each other for so long Jesse would feel the urge to pick a cuticle, rub his neck, shove his hands in his pocket. But up here such motions just seemed superfluous. 

 

So instead he just gazed at Mr. White, refusing to break first. Over the years he’d picked through thousands of their interactions. Imagining them differently. Wondering what he could have changed. In his head he’d stood up to Mr. White a lot more. Dreaming of having just _one_ more opportunity to not back down.

 

Which is why he tilted his head at Mr. White, opening his mouth, even though he didn’t have the first clue about what he’d say.

 

And then finally:

 

“So what’s with the Angel of Death routine? Why are you here?”

 

Mr. White shifted. If Jesse felt completely comfortable in his skin – or whatever the heck he was up here – Mr. White suddenly looked decidedly less so. Jesse felt settled, peaceful. Or almost. But Mr. White was starting to look restless, the veil of calm slipping and pooling on the floor the moment Jesse asked the question.

 

“Because I never left.”

 

Jesse rolled his eyes. “Yo, drama much?”

 

Some expression Jesse couldn’t identify flickered across Mr. White’s face.

 

“You still say ‘yo’,” Mr. White said. The expression was mutating into something almost like approval. Mr. White looked like he was hiding a smile.

 

“Don’t change the subject,” Jesse said, _refusing_ to acknowledge the automatic glow he felt after having gone so long without being on the receiving end of that look. Not that he’d ever gotten it much to begin with. But even a glimpse had been enough to keep him going sometimes. Keep him coming back for more.

 

“Jesse where do you think we are right now?”

 

Jesse was taken aback. He’d just assumed…he didn’t know. Some kind of afterlife. Unless…well…there was the time Mr. White had told him they were both going to hell.

 

Jesse felt himself go cold momentarily. But it immediately passed as he looked around them, the blurred not-quite-darkness-but-not-quite-lightness. He’d assumed ‘heaven’ but something was telling him ‘not yet’. But even if this might not have been quite ‘the great beyond’, Jesse wouldn’t have called it Hell. It would seem as though during that long ago moment Mr. White had just been full of shit. One more occasion to add to the list.

 

“I take it you didn’t quite make it up?” Jesse asked, looking at Mr. White uncertainly.

 

Mr. White shrugged. “I’ve been waiting.”

 

Jess arched his eyebrows. “On me? Wait –“ he narrowed his eyes. “Bullshit.”

 

“Oh really.”

 

“You haven’t been waiting for _me_ so you can ‘walk into the light’ or whatever,” Jesse said, realization dawning. “You don’t need my company, you – you need my permission.”

 

When Mr. White didn’t say anything Jesse burst out laughing. It wasn’t funny at all. But come on.

 

“Are you for real? You actually need my _permission_ to see if you’re allowed to head to the great gig in the sky? Jesus. What is this? My final revenge for all the hall passes you never wrote for me?” Jesse snorted.

 

Mr. White flinched. “I’m pretty sure that’s the least of any ways I might have wronged you.”

 

“ _Might_ have?” Jesse asked in disbelief. He was about to open his mouth, hurl an angry accusation when Mr. White interrupted him.

 

“I have wronged you,” Mr. White said, looking down. He took in a breath and looked at Jesse directly, and Jesse was hit by the intensity of feeling there.

 

“More than anyone.”

 

Jesse paused. But his flash of irritation slipped through him, replaced by calm. He sighed but nodded.

 

“Aren’t I special,” he muttered, but he looked at Mr. White in thanks. He didn’t _need_ to hear it to know it was true. But he’d be lying if he said it didn’t help.

 

Despite how casually he was acting, Jesse was reeling more than a little. What was this, some kind of karmic destiny? Mr. White can only achieve some measure of peace if Jesse okays it? He didn’t _want_ Mr. White’s fate in his hands. Mr. White had tried that once when he’d slid a gun across the floor to Jesse, hoping Jesse would once again pick up both it and the responsibility for everything Mr. White couldn’t. Jesse was sick of it.

 

“Jesus, why does everything in my life always have to come down to _you_?” Jesse bitterly. “Honest to God, just when I think I’m rid of you, everything just has to keep coming back to you, doesn’t it. And it’s always on me. No offense,” he said to Mr. White. “But you stopped mattering to me a long fucking time ago.”

 

Jesse swallowed around the barefaced lie, glaring hard at Mr. White.

 

Mr. White was silent for a long moment. And then said quietly, “I don’t suppose it would do any good to say it isn’t my idea this time?”

 

“Whose?”

 

Mr. White shrugged. “Somebody up there likes you.”

 

“What, so they thought they’d gift me with even more life-or-death decisions? Wow what an absolute privilege. No offense but that was always your area of expertise,” Jesse shot back nastily and Mr. White flinched. Jesse took a breath and said a bit more softly, “I don’t want to. I’m not – I’m not you.”

 

“No,” Mr. White said, shaking his head. “No you’re not. But this has to be your decision.”

 

Jesse sighed and stared at Mr. White hard. Not angrily. But how could Mr. White not _see_ that Jesse couldn’t just approach these things like they were nothing more than a coin toss?

 

“What would you do if you were me?” he asked plainly.

 

“If I were you?” Mr. White asked, arching an eyebrow. “I’d have put a bullet in my head the first time I told you to. Remember?”

 

Jesse remembered. Holding a gun to Mr. White’s head, Mr. White trying to goad him into pulling the trigger, every emphatic ‘ _do it_ ’ ensuring that Jesse would not. And Mr. White knowing it.

 

“What can I say,” Jesse said. “You set a convincing scene.” He meant it. The amount of times he’d thought Mr. White should have been on the stage were staggering.

 

“Well that’s what you might do,” Jesse continued. “But what do you think I would do?”

 

Mr. White looked at him uncertainly, like Jesse was setting some kind of trap for him.

 

“Come on,” Jesse said. “I think we’re past pretending you don’t know me at this point. What do you seriously think _I_ would do right now? Here?” he said, gesturing at the gently shifting void that surrounded them.

 

Mr. White stared at Jesse, the blue-green hitting the last pieces of the soul Jesse had managed to hold together overtime with desperate fingers.

 

“I think you should keep going to whatever’s next, and leave me to rot,” Mr. White said.

 

Jesse bit his lip as Mr. White continued: “But I also don't think you would. I’m not even saying that because I’m trying to make you do one thing or another. I’m done convincing you do to things. But if you need a vote of confidence either way…doing that is not the person I know. Or the person I knew. You’re not that person who lets go of people. And I know I took advantage of that,” he said softly. Jesse looked up. Mr. White sounded like he didn’t even know what to say.

 

Mr. White let his hand settle, took in a breath and faced Jesse.

 

“I don’t want to hurt you anymore. And I mean that for your sake; not mine. I just…” Mr. White shook his head.

 

“Jesse I don’t want you to do anything you’d regret. Your loyalty is the worst thing about you but it’s also the best. Or at least it’s better than anything I had going for me. You’re you. You’re not the kind of person who just – “ Mr. White waved a hand around while not looking at Jesse. “You’ve just always been so – I mean I’ve always found you someone who…”

 

Jesse watched Mr. White searching for words and felt his lips begin to turn up of their own accord.

 

“Mr. White,” he interrupted. Mr. White’s head snapped back up and Jesse smiled.

 

“Would it actually kill you to tell me you love me?”

 

Mr. White looked like he was frozen for a split-second. But then with a huff of laughter that seemed directed at himself, he glanced at Jesse, raising his eyebrows.

 

“It did,” he said simply. And he smiled tentatively at Jesse, who was standing stock-still, the two words echoing around him, finding the corners inside of him that had stayed empty, reverberating off the walls, waking them up with everything Jesse had needed to hear, no matter how hard he tried to pretend he didn’t.

 

So there it was. It might not have been the full three words. But here and now, with him and Mr. White, two felt like enough.

 

Like most of his time spent with Mr. White, the pieces that went unsaid were the ones that mattered most anyways.

 

Throat tightening, Jesse nodded at Mr. White once, to show he’d heard. Mr. White nodded back.

 

They stayed staring at each other a long moment until finally Mr. White cleared his throat and Jesse laughed a little.

 

“So what now?” Mr. White asked.

 

“Like you don’t already know what,” Jesse scoffed, and smiled gently at Mr. White, extending his hand.

 

Mr. White stared at it and Jesse nodded.

 

“Can we go home now?”

 

Mr. White’s mouth dropped open almost imperceptibly. He closed it quickly, looking as inscrutable as he ever did. But Jesse thought he caught the flash of gratitude in his eyes. Or maybe that was just a reflection off the glasses, from the way the light seemed to be growing somewhere off in Jesse’s periphery, slowly sending in slivers to dissolve the shadows in which they were standing.

 

Mr. White slowly reached out to take Jesse’s hand. But he stopped.

 

“Jesse…when I said I wasn’t sorry…”

 

“I know,” Jesse said.

 

Jesse paused.

 

“When I said you stopped mattering to me,” he began.

 

Mr. White nodded. “I know.”

 

And then he reached out the rest of the way, taking hold of Jesse’s hand, as Jesse pulled him up to his level.

 

The two stared at each other a moment longer, not saying anything, Mr. White’s palm feeling more solid under Jesse’s with every second that passed. Jesse squeezed it once. Whether it was for Mr. White’s comfort or his, he didn’t know. It didn’t matter anymore.

 

And dropping Mr. White’s hand he inclined his head to the side, where the light was getting stronger, and echoed the words Mr. White had told him ages ago, the ones that had carried him here:

 

“Now let’s go.”

 

They turned at the same time, and began to walk away. They headed off, side-by-side, nothing more buried, nothing concealed, no more secrets. Nothing left between them except one more chance. The last one.

 

The light was slowly changing colour as they headed towards it, gradually turning a soft gold, and then, slowly, stripes of a deep, full red. Not the kind that bled, but the kind that filtered off into a fiery orange that warmed the bones, like leaning against sun-heated walls of a dusty RV. It was the colour of dark sand when it was scuffed by two sets of footprints. The colour of hazy evenings spent under an open sky and a horizon soaked with gold.

 

The colour of a desert sun, slowly pulling down the end of another day.

  

  

The End.


End file.
